


Three Swords

by octopus_fool



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Glamdring - Freeform, Orcrist - Freeform, Sting - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 06:36:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4511655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short history of our three favourite swords.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Swords

He hammered the hot metal, singing songs of connection and protection. He had forged countless swords, but in recent years, there had been peace. It was one of the advantages of living in a hidden city. But there were whispers that Lady Idril was having dreams of war and destruction and he had always trusted her foresight. So he was forging swords again, and these were not any swords. His own sword grew long and straight, longer than the other two. He called it Glamdring and wrote the runes along the blade. The one for his loved one had an elegant curve and flew through the air easily and deadly. Its name was Orcrist, he decided, hoping it would slay every orc that came close to it. The last one seemed like little more than a dagger to those who knew no better. He gave it no name yet, leaving that for his son to decide, but he sang great songs of protection for the innocent as he forged it.

Lady Idril’s foresight proved true, but the smith’s family could not find a way out of the city. The orcs were too numerous.  
Three glowing blue swords left the city amongst countless other plunder. The orcs were pressed for time and hid the plunder in a dark cave in the mountains.

Years passed, until a band of heroes whose names have since fallen out of history found them. They took what gold they found and whatever else they could use. The leader took Orcrist and bound the small sword onto his belt as a dagger. His most loyal companion took Glamdring. In the wars that followed, the swords drank the blood of orcs beyond count, instilling fear in all evil creatures that saw them. 

But not even great warriors are always a match for dragons. Flesh and bones burnt to ashes, yet the metal of Gondolin could not be melted and the swords shone amongst the dust.

No dragon has ever been able to resist shiny objects, be they jewels or weapons. And so the swords lay amidst the fumes of a dragon’s lair, no tarnish gathering on their bright blades even in the long gloom. 

The dragon met its grisly end, but its hoard lay unfound in the mountains of the North. Until a group of bandits on the run from the laws of Arnor sought refuge from a snowstorm and stumbled upon it. It was the greatest discovery of their lives and also the unluckiest. The curse of the dragon’s hoard soon brought their lives to an untimely end and the treasure they had managed to carry out of the lair was divided. Only the three swords stayed together, bound by the songs of the elven smith. 

They passed through countless hands, until a pair of weary travellers made camp in the wrong area and became dinner for trolls. The trolls fought and argued about the swords and then forgot about them, lying in a corner of their cave. Only the smallest sword was occasionally used as a toothpick. 

“These were forged by the High-elves of Gondolin. I’ll take this one for myself and you can keep the other one, Thorin. Bilbo, come here. I have something for you.”

And the three swords had companions again.


End file.
